Visitations
by EmmileneRosalina
Summary: As he bursts into peals of uncontrollable laughter, I now remember why I hate everybody. JOKER, England's POV


**I know I should be updating my Spain x Romano story, but I needed to practice writing again since I was away in California for the past two weeks (OMG, cutest Italy cosplayer EVER at Comic Con, I was like D'AAAW), and a series of plot bunnies bombarded me upon my return. I also know that this site has more than its fair share of JOKER lovin', but the thought occurred, so...**

**I think this is a oneshot, but my thoughts often deceive me.**

**Warnings: Rated T for tuberculosis... or teen. Crack, insanity, OOCness and a first attempt at writing in the present, first-person point of view. Drug abuse (I do NOT condone this). Also a cliffhanger that may make you hate me, if you don't already.**

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_Visitations_

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"Really? That's quite interesting," I reply to my guest, taking a sip of tea. The phone rings, but I ignore it. It would be rude to answer with company, and a visit like this is awfully rare... "So tell me, Charles, how are things in the country?" I offer him another sugar cube, but he shakes his head.

"It has been going most well, Arthur. And please, call me Charlie." I furrow my eyebrows, but let it pass. "And how go things here? Though, truth be told, I can tell from how tired you are that they can't be going well." I laugh politely and run a hand through my hair.

"It's just this economy, Charlie. It might just be the death of me." The phone rings again, and I stand, pulling the phone line out of the wall to silence the noise. I take my seat again, and Charles looks at me worriedly.

"Shouldn't you answer that, Arthur? It could be important," he remarks. I scoff, looking out the window at the rain lightly striking the windows.

_Another beautiful day in London_...

I turn back to my old friend with a reassuring smile. "It can't be more important than this visit. If it is, the caller should know the number of the phone I actually answer." Charles throws his head back with a laugh, hair flying into his eyes.

"Now there's the England I know and love. Always thinking." I chuckle as well.

--

After about two hours of this, there is fierce rapping on the door, and I sigh in annoyance. Charles makes a face. "I've quite overstayed, Arthur. I'm sorry."

"No, you don't have to leave," I try, but he stops me.

"It's quite alright. The country needs me back." I sigh sadly.

"I'll escort you out, then; I suppose."

"I know the way out. Thank you for your hospitality, England. Do drop in sometime, okay?"

I agree with a heavy heart and amble towards the front door, where the knocking has yet to cease. I already have a good idea of who the caller is, and open the door quickly to give him a piece of my mind; but instead he crashes into me, knocking us to the floor.

"Arthur, you're alive," Alfred notes intelligently. I struggle under him; the sod is soaking wet and the dampness is starting to soak into my sweater vest, which, I note bitterly, is definitely going to shrink now. How long was he standing out there anyway?

"You bloody nincompoop, why are you here?!" I fume angrily as America stands up.

"What, a guy can't visit an old friend without a reason?" That idiot smiles as though we're still friends and he hadn't just interrupted a once-in-a-century house call from the king of the magic world. I stand up quickly and shed the vest, wringing it out and shutting the front door. "After all, I tried to call, but you didn't pick up."

"Oh really," I grit out. "I must not have heard the phone." He looks appalled at the suggestion.

"But I called a good forty times! I thought you'd been kidnapped by France or Russia or something! And being the hero, I decided to come save you!" I give him a steely eye.

"So running me over and interrupting a bloody house call is saving me, _how_?" I cross my arms and look up at the buffoon who looks a bit flustered, which I have to say I'm proud of.

"You didn't answer the door, so I was going to ram it down..." I roll my eyes and start walking back into the living room.

"Go take a shower, nitwit. Actually, throw your clothes in the dryer, too. You're dripping all over my nice, clean carpet."

He looks as though he'd like to object, but he obeys anyway. If he's still sore about the taxes and orders I gave him when he was a colony, then I could care less. After all, he hurt me too; he should just give it up already.

--

After wasting all of my hot water, I had half a mind to kick Alfred out; but the numbskull had other ideas. I could only massage my temples and will away the oncoming headache as the American rummaged through my cabinets on a quest for instant coffee. As if I would even have garbage such as coffee in stock at my house.

"It's hot cocoa or tea, Alfred," I call to him, knowing that he probably won't listen. He pokes his head through the doorway sheepishly and walks in a moment later with a glass of water.

_Well, that figures_.

I grumble to myself as Alfred settles on my couch. I still don't know why he's here...

"...Iggy? Are you listening to me?" I flush red. I was so busy being cross that I hadn't been paying attention. Not that he needed any more of it. I face him nonchalantly. "Er... so I interrupted a business call earlier. Sorry about that."

I sigh. "It wasn't a business call, and yes, you interrupted it." He looks up at me with a surprised look on his face.

"Wait, you have friends who visit you for things other than business?" I glard at him and he shuts his mouth. He is silent for a moment, but his nosy American gene kicks in. "So who was it?" I let a breath out of my mouth in a tired sigh.

"Nobody that you would be acquainted with, Alfred." He crosses his arms.

"Try me." I should have known he'd be stubborn; he always was and he always will be.

"It's not important now," I reply, though it's a lie. It was important to _me_, at least.

"Come on, Iggy," he whines in that oh-so-heroic voice. I don't remember raising him to be this annoying.

"Don't call me that, and you'll laugh." It's a statement, and Alfred knows it. He raises an eyebrow and gives me a look. I sigh again. I've been doing that a quite a bit lately.

"King Charles..."

"Isn't he dead? Or were you communicating with the deceased again?" I have to say, this impresses me a bit, although the fact that the word "communicating" managed to come out of his mouth probably impresses me more than the fact that he remembers King Charles at all. Especially considering the fact that he has hamburgers for brains.

"So you do remember. But you're thinking of the wrong king."

"So, Charlie-"

"_King_ Charles," I correct him.

"Right. So where's this guy from?"

"...the eastern country."

"Don't you think that place is magic or something? So is this guy like a fairy or something," Alfred teases, and I have an urge to hurl my cup of hot tea into his face.

"Unicorn, actually," I reply heatedly. Alfred stops his incessant giggling.

"The unicorn," he repeats, completely serious. "King Charles the unicorn?" I don't know why he's interested now, but I nod.

"_Charlie_ the unicorn."

As he bursts into peals of uncontrollable laughter, I now remember why I hate everybody.

--

A thunderstorm has hit, and as luck would have it, the taxi that America was planning to leave in was crushed by a falling tree. Thankfully, the driver was somewhere filling his American mouth with doughnuts or some other unhealthy food.

Unfortunately, however, this also means that Alfred will be staying the night. Oh, joy.

After he had laughed for a good fifteen minutes, I began to search my kitchen for heavy-duty, sleep-inducing painkillers to rid me of my headache and hopefully his presence. I turned in early, and when I awoke, Alfred was shaking me and telling me that he had to sleep here.

So here I am, sleeping on the couch because I'm a _bloody_ gentleman in one of the worst storms London has seen in a decade. The power has gone off already, and I've switched to candles. Though not all of this is in vain. When America fell asleep, I snuck into my room (which he had, in a quite ungentlemanly display, claimed for the night) and stole his glasses from the bedside table.

Seeing him bumble around tomorrow morning and tripping over things in search of Texas might just be worth it.

I lie down on the couch and take more painkillers. This is going to be a long night...

--

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the weather. It's nice and sunny outside.

The second things I notice are the two arms surrounding my waist. "G'mornin', beautiful," Alfred says sleepily. I simply blink, wondering more _how_ this happened than _why_.

"Why are you in my bed," I ask evenly. America yawns and pulls me closer to his chest; I don't struggle. Not that I can. I know that if it comes to physical strength, one-on-one, Alfred has me beat.

"I'm not in your bed, Iggy, I'm on your couch." So he is. I scoff and turn slightly to glare at him, noticing that Texas is perched haphazardly on his nose. He must have gone looking for them in the middle of the night and then fallen asleep with them on his face. That lazy buffoon.

"Okay, _why_ are you on my couch when I was obviously here first?" Alfred takes off his glasses and tosses them onto the table over me so he can rub his eyes.

"The lightning got really close and woke me up. Couldn't find Texas, came down here to ask why you stole it, tripped over some things" I can't help but smirk at that, "and you had them on the table, so I took them and went back upstairs after putting out your candle." I frown at this.

_Damn, I guess I forgot to put it out_.

Alfred seems to know what I'm thinking, because I can feel him shaking his head behind me. "Smokey the bear would maul you, Arthur."

"Bugger off..."

"Anyway, I couldn't fall back asleep, so I turned on a flashlight and read this stupid book about mythological creatures that you had next to your bed, and guess what?"

"What, you nit?" I don't know where this conversation is going, but I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach...

Alfred licks the shell of my ear suddenly and I let out a noise of surprise, turning towards him again to yell at him; but my words get stuck as I catch a glimpse of him.

His eyelashes are lowered seductively over his eyes, which are shimmering blue; and a knowing smirk plays at the corner of his lips. His rumpled hair and clothes aren't helping the image any, and I swallow quietly past my suddenly dry throat.

"Unicorns only visit _virgins_, England..." My face heats up as I realize that this is just another teasing technique, and I try to push myself away from him, but he really is too strong.

"So what? There's nothing wrong with it..." I mumble, looking away; but he takes my chin in his fingers and turns my head so I'm looking straight at him. My heart skips a beat.

"I decided I would fix that today, Arthur," he says.

And he kisses me.

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//_End_

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**First, Hetalia doesn't belong to me. Neither does Charlie the unicorn.**

**I'd prefer not to have any flames, but that's totally up to you. I'm a child at heart. I don't really take criticism well.**

**Also, I had more plot bunnies, so I may act on those as well. It'd be best to get them out of my system so they don't affect my other writing.**

**EDIT: I fixed some things, and forgot to mention this before: I don't really know shit about England. I mean, as a country. I mean, I wish I could live there and all, but my mom is such an Anglophile that I find myself tuning out when she brings England up. Just as a habit though, I do love England... ANYWAY, what I mean by this is eastern country, western country, whatever. I don't even know if there IS country in the east anymore. But 'eastern country' sounds more magical, non?**


End file.
